Harry Potter and the First Division
by VAM-W
Summary: A nearly five year-old Harry starts showing signs of accidental magic, leading his terrified Aunt and Uncle to bring him to the local church to be exorcized. The lives of the whole family change with what they find there. AU
1. A Storm in the Garden

**.**

**Harry Potter and the First Division**

****PART I - NOVICE****

****Chapter 1****

****A Storm in the Garden****

_Disclaimer: I do not own the world or characters of Harry Potter, and I do not make any money from writing about them. Also, I am not a TV evangelist in disguise._

Harry Potter was enthralled. He didn't notice the heat of the summer sun, or the pricking of the short grass beneath his legs, or the bee that had landed on his knee. All he could see was the storm cloud forming above his head. It had little bolts of lightning flashing in it, though Harry just knew somehow that he need not worry about being struck. Watching the static, Harry wondered why he had heard people talk about his "lightening bolt scar", since his only scar didn't look anything like the lightning he was watching now.

Harry sighed in relief as the storm began to release large, cool raindrops. Aunt 'Tunia had locked him out of the house this morning after finding that he had wet the bed during the night, and he hadn't had more than a quick drink from the hose since he woke up. Now Harry laid back and let the cool rain fall on his face, imagining he was steaming like firewood that had been put out with a bucket of water.

"BOY!" Aunt 'Tunia's screech rang out from the back door, breaking Harry out of his fantasy. Up above, thunder rumbled ominously.

* * *

Petunia Dursley was quite normal, thank you very much. She had a normal house and a normal husband who worked a normal job. Her son was a normal little boy. And that was just how Petunia liked it.

There was _one_ thing in Petunia Dursley's normal little world, however, that was decidedly _not_ normal. As she looked out into the garden, Normal Petunia Dursley thought her heart would stop right there in her chest.

Her nephew, Harry Potter, lay directly under one of the meanest looking storm clouds Petunia had ever seen, (and she lived in England,) soaking in the rain like it was water from a shower head. Lightening flashed through the cloud constantly, threatening to zip down to the ground and light up the boy below. The cloud was a curious thing. It was strangely still. Oh, it shrank and grew and roiled like any storm cloud would, but it didn't move even an inch. It was also floating in her back garden, a scant ten feet above the ground.

Petunia glanced over to Number Six's garden, knowing what she'd see. Across the fence, birds played in the birdbath, flowers opened their petals to the sky, and the sun beat down on the patio. _That_ made sense - the weatherman had said there was no chance for rain at all. And yet, here Petunia was, with a storm raging in her garden. Over her nephew. _Only_ over her nephew. Petunia would bet her wedding china that her flower garden was dry as a bone.

As lightening flashed in the cloud again, she shook herself out of her shock. This wouldn't do at all. She may not like the boy, but that didn't mean she wanted him to get fried to a crisp in her back garden. Setting her shoulders against the rain, Petunia marched out to her nephew, intending to drag him inside for a shower, but she didn't get that far. Just as she entered the small area under the cloud, a bolt of lightening slammed into the ground not five feet in front of her.

* * *

His aunt's scream snapped Harry out of the last of his daze. As his attention focused on Aunt 'Tunia, he barely noticed the rain lightening up and stopping.

"Aunt 'Tunia?" the not quite five year-old asked in concern. She probably wouldn't like getting wet, Harry thought. After all, she hated mud with a passion.

Aunt 'Tunia marched over to the him and grabbed him painfully by the arm, yanking him to his feet and half-dragging him into the house.

"Get upstairs and shower, boy, and then it's into your cupboard," she snapped. _Oh,_ Harry thought. _I did something freakish again._ Morosely, he took his shoes off and trudged up the stairs.

That evening, locked in his cupboard, Harry strained to listen through the door to his aunt and uncle's conversation. They were talking about him.

"...could..._killed_ you!" Harry could tell Uncle Vern was struggling not to yell, and he wondered why. Uncle Vern usually didn't have any problem yelling.

"...was...worried about...Vernon." That was Aunt 'Tunia - she was better at whispering, but her voice carried under the door more easily. "...just laying...paying any mind...lightening...going to get...killed one day!"

"Damn...boy, Pet! ...not have...-dangering...family. ...what...neighbours...?"

"..must be someth-...be done, Vern."

Uncle Vern was silent for what seemed like a long time. Harry could just imagine him scrunching his face up in thought, running his beefy hands over his moustache. Then Aunt 'Tunia spoke up.

"Vern...what about...priest?"

Harry couldn't hear any more after that, and soon drifted off to sleep, dreaming about clouds that followed people around.

* * *

His shoe had a hole in it. Not counting the one his foot slipped into, that is. Harry scuffed his trainers against the ground as he followed Aunt 'Tunia and Uncle Vern. He wondered how much duct tape it would take to keep his toes from poking out this time. The hole in his other shoe had been so big it had needed taped on the inside, too, to keep his socks from sticking. This one wasn't so big.

Harry was so concentrated on his shoes that he didn't notice Aunt 'Tunia stop as Uncle Vern went to open the door for her. He crashed into her back, and it was only Uncle Vern's hand snapping out to grab his arm that stopped him tumbling down the steps and into the street. Heart pounding, Harry stammered an apology to his aunt and finally looked around.

They were in a part of Little Whinging that Harry hadn't seen before. Directly in front of him was a pair of large carved oak double doors. The building into which they led was similarly large and seemed to Harry to be unnecessarily pointy, with coloured windows that showed pictures of women and strange people with wings. The bit Harry could see through the open door was filled with rows of long wooden benches and seemed to be lit with hundreds of candles. A big table with a green tablecloth stood at the front of the room. There was a pillar near the door with what looked like a birdbath in the top of it. The whole set up looked very strange to Harry, and the thought flashed through his mind that Uncle Vern couldn't have decided to sell Harry to a haunted house, since Halloween was forever away, and besides, where were the monsters?

"Careful, boy," Uncle Vern growled at him, snapping him out of his thoughts again. "We don't need you snapping your fool neck on the steps of the church. You cause enough trouble as it is." The man squinted at Harry intently, making sure the boy wouldn't start to fall again, before releasing his arm and following Aunt 'Tunia into the building. Harry was left scrambling to follow before the giant door closed on him.

The inside of the large building was just as strange as he had thought from the outside, if not moreso. Looking around as he followed his aunt and uncle, the boy failed to notice the glow that started around his head and hands until Aunt 'Tunia glanced back at him and let out a loud gasp. When Harry looked down at himself, trying to find out what had upset his aunt now, he let out a loud cry. Bright white light was coming from his hands. He started whimpering when his feet left the ground, and then he heard music playing in his head and a large book on the table started glowing as well.

Uncle Vern and Aunt 'Tunia were staring at him, mouths open in shock, as Harry floated higher and higher. The music in Harry's head got so loud he thought his skull would burst, and then, with a great flash, the white light seemed to _explode_ from both his body and the book on the table, and music filled the room.

For what seemed like forever, Harry floated there, feeling more and more relaxed, until he finally came back down, dead asleep when he hit the ground.

* * *

**A/N:** This story is the answer to a question that has been banging around my head for a while now...What would happen if, for whatever reason, Vernon and Petunia decided to raise Harry as a Christian? It's an interesting question, and one that I don't think I've ever seen addressed. What follows will be a bit of history mixed with (quite) a bit of creative license, and also a pretty close look at the particular faith walk that I feel would result from the environment that Harry finds himself in when he gets to Hogwarts, because let's face it, I don't care how good a kid is, no eleven year-old at boarding school does everything by the book. Perhaps there's also a bit of allegorical commentary on the challenges presented to young Christians in modern society, but that's for the reader to either examine or ignore at your pleasure.

I've got a pretty good idea how this story is going to progress, but I don't have a full outline yet. The story will be in four parts, and I'll possibly have some breaks in posting between parts or Hogwarts years while I put finishing touches on the next bit of outline. In the meantime, this intro chapter was begging to be written.

Please note, I will gladly accept comments and/or constructive criticism, but flames will be ignored, deleted, and forgotten. Frankly, I don't really care if you're Christian or Athiest or even Pastafarian. I'm not really writing this for you. I'm writing to see where the story takes me. I don't intend to turn off anonymous reviews (I'm not sure I even remember how), but I will if I get a lot of flames.

Finally, if anyone wants to volunteer as a Brit-picker for the Yank (I _am_ a bit of a HP and Doctor Who nut, but I don't know everything) or as a brain-source for various denominations (Catholic and C of E in particular), please PM me.

Ta,

Courtney


	2. Dealing with Demons

**.**

**Harry Potter and the First Division**

**PART I - NOVICE**

**Chapter 2**

**Dealing with (Metaphorical) Demons**

_Disclaimer: I do not own the world or characters of Harry Potter, and I do not make any money from writing about them. Also, I am not a TV evangelist in disguise._

* * *

Harry felt like he was floating.

Opening his eyes, he discovered that he was. All he could see was a kind of soft white glow, extending forever with no horizon. Strangely, he seemed unable to be concerned about his surroundings. Nothing seemed scary at all, actually.

"Hello?" Harry called to the air. His voice sounded strange, like a man's voice rather than a boy's. The air seemed to absorb the word, neither echoing nor muffling the sound.

Somehow, the glow that came from everywhere pulsed once, gently, and Harry had a sensation he assumed to be like big arms wrapping him in a hug. He couldn't remember having any hugs, though, so he couldn't be sure. The invisible arms held him for a time, strongly but tenderly, and he slowly drifted off to sleep again.

As the last vestiges of conciousness left him, Harry thought he heard a voice echoing in his head.

_"Do keep faith with Me, Harry Potter, for I will always keep faith with you...and I shall use you do great things indeed..."_

* * *

"-ry? Harry, son, it's time to wake up now."

When next Harry woke, he found himself in a strange place. Again. It certainly wasn't his cupboard at home. An old man was leaning over him, one hand on Harry's shoulder as though to shake him awake. Uncle Vern and Aunt 'Tunia were sitting nearby, looking simultaneously nervous and astounded. They were in a wood panelled office, similar to the Head Teacher's office at school, and Harry was laying on a long sofa. The old man moved his hand when Harry opened his eyes, and the boy sat up, looking at his Aunt and Uncle confusedly.

"Aunt 'Tunia, where're we?" he asked groggily. Where had that other place been? Had it been a dream? It seemed so real.

"We're at church, boy...Harry," Uncle Vern answered for his wife, who was still staring at her nephew.

The strange old man spoke up. "Harry, you're at Saint Joseph's Catholic Church, and my name is Father Gerard Cunningham. Do you remember coming here?"

Harry squinted up at the man. "I remember the pointy building, and the music," he answered suspiciously. "Whose father are you?"

Father Gerard chuckled. "'Father' is a title, my boy. It means I lead the church here at St. Joseph's."

"Oh. What's church?" Aunt 'Tunia started a little at that, like he should have known. Should he? He didn't remember hearing about church before.

The man hummed and moved to sit in a chair near the sofa, leaning back and pressing his fingertips together as he studied the boy. "Church, Harry, is where people go to say 'thank you' to God, the One who made all of us, and to learn about Him, and to learn how to live as He would like us to live," he said after a minute. "It's also a place where people go to be with other people who believe in Him. Do you understand all that, Harry?"

"Umm...I think so," Harry answered, face scrunched up in thought as he tried to decipher the Father's words. "Someone made us?"

"Yes, Harry. God made me and your Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, and your cousin Dudley, and you, as well. He made the whole world, actually."

"Oh. Why do people come here to say thank you? Does God live here?" Harry wondered if he should be apologizing for having his trainers on God's sofa - they still had mud on them from The Storm In The Garden.

"God lives everywhere, Harry," Father Gerard said. "He is in the plants, and the animals, and the people that love Him...He's in the very air that we breath and the light from the sun."

Something clicked in Harry's mind, and he started talking very quickly. "Is God in the white place? I thought there were great arms around me, but I didn't see any arms. Did God give me a hug? Is that what a hug is like? I like hugs. I heard someone talking. Was that God?" Harry spoke so rapidly and was so focused on Father Gerard that he didn't notice Aunt 'Tunia and Uncle Vern paling even further.

Father Gerard held up a hand, chuckling merrily. "Hold on, Harry. I can't answer your questions if you don't stop asking them for a moment." Now the old man peered intently at Harry. "A white place, you say? Where did you see this white place? Can you describe it?"

Harry blushed at having been caught chattering. "Umm..." he said, suddenly shy. "It was just white. There wasn't anything around, not even the ground, and I was floating. Then I felt the arms, and I heard someone talking, and then I fell to sleep and I woke up here."

"Do you remember what the someone said?" Father Gerard asked.

Harry thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No sir, I'm sorry," he answered.

The kindly old man smiled gently. "Quite alright, young Harry. Now I can't say for sure if that was God, as I wasn't there with you, but I think you might be right. Something tells me you're a very special little boy."

Harry immediately shook his head. "No, sir, not me," he replied at once. "I think God might have messed something up when he made me."

"Oh? And why do you think that?" Father Gerard asked, one eyebrow raised. Harry thought he looked funny that way.

He glanced nervously at Aunt 'Tunia and Uncle Vern. Leaning in close, he whispered loudly, "Sometimes I do freaky things."

The father leaned in as well and whispered back, "What kind of freaky things?"

The boy again looked carefully at his Aunt before turning back to Father Gerard. "I made a storm in the garden yesterday," Harry said solemnly.

Both of Father Gerard's eyebrows went up this time, and he leaned back, folding his hands in his lap. "Oh dear, yes that is odd," the father agreed. "Was there much lightening in this storm?" Harry nodded, wide-eyed. He'd never had anyone react this calmly to his freakiness before. "Was anyone hurt?"

Harry shook his head. "No, sir," he said. "But...Aunt 'Tunia almost got hit by a lightening." He glanced over to Aunt 'Tunia and saw her face was pinched, like she had just licked a lemon, though she still hadn't lost the look of shock she'd been wearing since Harry woke up.

"Oh my," Father Gerard exclaimed, snapping Harry's attention back to him. "That sounds like it would have hurt."

"Yes, sir. A lightening hit a tree on Wisteria Walk last month and it broke the tree into two pieces." Harry was surprised to see the old man's face twist not into surprise or disgust or fear, which he was used to, but rather into a look that Aunt 'Tunia and Uncle Vern gave to Dudley. He wasn't sure what it meant.

"Very good, Harry!" Father Gerard leaned forward, holding Harry's eyes intently, and the little boy stared at him. No one had ever praised him like that before.

"You have a gift, Harry, one that I will tell you more about, but it's very important that you realize your gift can hurt people. That's very good - never forget that you can hurt people without meaning to." Then the Father's face changed from serious to cheerful so abruptly that Harry sat up, surprised. "Now then, Harry, what I can tell you for certain is that God didn't mess up a thing when He made you. You are exactly the little boy God planned to make, from long before your mummy and daddy even thought of you."_  
_

Harry looked up into the old man's smiling eyes with a heart-breaking look of hope on his face. "D'you really think so?"

"I know so, Harry." Father Gerard then leaned back, finally glancing at the stricken Dursleys across the room. "Harry, I'd like to tell you more about your gift, and I will very, very soon, but right now I need to speak with your Aunt and Uncle alone, please. Would you mind waiting just outside my office for a bit? Sister Rebecca is out there, and I'm sure she has some story books she can read to you."

Harry was still a little dazed by the thought of not being a mistake, and agreed readily enough. As the door closed behind him, he missed Father Gerard's friendly face being overcome by a look that would have gone nicely with a small, angry storm cloud.

* * *

"Let me begin by making one thing very clear," Father Gerard started coldly, once the door clicked shut. "The _only_ reason I've not phoned the police already is because of _Harry's_ unique circumstances. If I find that you are unable to become the fit guardians that he is desperately in need of, I will not hesitate to report you for child abuse, endangerment, neglect, and any other charges the investigation might turn up." His face smoothed out into his friendly smile, this time with a hint of steel behind it. "However, I am heartened by the fact that you brought the child here, rather than dumping him in the nearest orphanage or, God forbid, murdering the boy in cold blood, so perhaps we can all come to understand each other." Here he leaned forward. "Now, which one of you wants to tell me what on God's green earth you were thinking when you chose to treat a child that way for four years?"

The three adults stared at each other in silence for a full minute - Father Gerard waiting for one of the Dursleys to speak, and the Dursleys too petrified to utter a word. Ultimately, it was Vernon who found the gumption to respond. "Father, I was raised to be a God-fearing man," he started, trying not to show that he was sweating bullets. "I always dismissed the verses in the Old Testament about witches and enchanters; after all, what reasonable person would believe in magic? But it turns out it's real. The Bible says 'thou shall not suffer a witch to live.' Was I supposed to kill a child?"

Father Gerard gazed at the man, stubbornly trying to keep his chin up in the face of his own mistakes, and murmured, "Let he among you who is without sin cast the first stone." Vernon held his gaze for a moment more, then deflated like a leaky balloon. Petunia, grasping Vernon's hand like a lifeline, crumbled in her seat, shaking. "And you, Petunia? What do you have to say for yourself?"

The woman just sat there for a while, trying to compose herself. Finally, without looking up, she started talking. "My sister, Lily...she was the first...w-witch...in our family. The woman that brought her acceptance letter to that school told us that all her outbursts were called 'accidental magic', and that it reacted to extreme emotions. Lily's emotions were almost always extreme. She controlled it around our mother and father - they wouldn't have put up with her flinging things at them. They only ever saw the tame things, like making biscuits fly off the counter, or the one time she made a kitten appear out of nowhere. The woman from the school said that Lily was very powerful, and very powerful children had a harder time with the accidental magic. Looking back, I suppose that was why things always happened when she and I argued, but back then I was convinced she wanted to kill me. I spent most of my childhood terrified of my baby sister, and then when her son turned up on my doorstep..." She took a deep, shuddering breath, a few tears slipping down her face. "Harry's first accidental magic in our home was the day after he turned up. I had him in the kitchen with me, and he started crying. Every piece of glass in the room exploded." At this point, Petunia broke down crying, heaving sobs wracking her thin frame.

Vernon gripped his wife's hand tightly, rubbing her back with his free hand, and looked up at the priest. "Pet was in hospital for three days after that, Father," he said solemnly. "Do you understand now? I'm not saying what we did was right, but we had to protect ourselves, and our son." His piece said, Vernon turned his attention to comforting his wife.

Father Gerard watched the couple quietly, thoughts whirling behind his solemn mask. He did understand now, not that he agreed with the pair's actions. He was not an expert by any means, but as far as he knew, accidental magic had to be _extremely_ powerful to cause that kind of damage. And for a toddler to have so much power already was, indeed, a frightening thought. He let the couple compose themselves a bit before moving to kneel in front of Petunia.

He gently laid a hand on her still shaking shoulder, and began to say a simple prayer over her, "Holy Father, this woman has faced great suffering at the hands of magic-users. She is burdened by fear, and haunted by past events that taint her memory of her sister. Lord, I ask that you send forth your mercy and ease her pain, so that she may put the past behind her, and raise up her children in the way they should go, and not lead them unwittingly into the arms of the Dark One. Amen." All three were silent for a moment, the two men rallying quietly around the shattered woman.

Afterwards, Father Gerard called Petunia's name quietly, grabbing her attention. She reluctantly raised red-rimmed eyes to meet his. "You have shown great strength today, sharing that with us. Do you think you can be strong from here on, and raise Harry and Dudley to walk with God? Remember, God will never give you a task you are unable to complete - with His help, of course."

Petunia was looked down again, and for a long pause the only sound in the office was the ticking of the clock on the wall. Finally, she looked up at her husband, straightened her shoulders, and nodded firmly. "Yes, I believe I can," she declared.

* * *

**A/N:** A bit more intro here, and some background into my Petunia's issues with magic. Next chapter will include quite a lot of that creative licensing going on (with the history part, not the religion part, so don't throttle me), and some set up for the rest of Harry's pre-Hogwarts years. I anticipate six more chapters in Part I, unless I choose to split a chapter, like I did this one, into two parts.

Also, before I get a bunch of comments about Harry's grammar, please keep in mind that the child is just approaching 5 years old. I tried to model his speech patterns after my younger son's when he was that age, and I hope I've come close. Either way, five year-olds typically don't deal well with expressing abstract ideas, thus the rather concrete quality to Harry's conversation.

As always, I welcome any thoughts, as long as they aren't flames. And I'm still in the market for a Brit-picker and brain sources, as mentioned in the first chapter.

Cheers,  
Courtney


	3. Gifts and Consequences

**Harry Potter and the First Division**

**PART I - NOVICE**

**Chapter 3**

**Gifts and Consequences**

The waiting area outside Father Gerard's office was paneled in wood, too. It was a smallish room, about the size of the sitting room at home, with a few large bookshelves, a desk, and a little seating area with a sofa and two chairs. Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to sit on the chairs, so he just waited outside the office door.

As he stood there, looking around, the lady at the desk looked up at him. "Sent out to wait while the adults talk, then?" she asked sympathetically. Harry nodded.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, belatedly remembering he was supposed to answer when he was asked a question.

"Well don't just stand there, then," the lady said. "Take a seat. I'm Sister Rebecca," she added, smiling kindly.

Harry shook his head, hard, as he walked over to the sofa. This was getting weird – he couldn't remember ever being smiled at this much, especially by adults. He was beginning to think he'd wake up in his cupboard soon, but the lady – no, Sister Rebecca – was talking again.

"It's Harry, right? Do you know about Jesus, Harry?" she asked as she rose from behind the desk and walked across the carpet, over to a smaller bookshelf Harry hadn't seen at first. She gave him yet another quick smile and crouched down to examine the book spines.

A little voice in Harry's head was whispering to him that Aunt 'Tunia wouldn't be caught dead in any sort of crouch – she would claim to anyone who might be listening that it wasn't ladylike – but this lady certainly seemed to be able to crouch like one. Then his ears caught up with his brain, and he shook his head as he registered her question. "What's Jesus?" he asked, feeling slightly like he should already know about at least some of the things people were talking about.

Sister Rebecca smiled at him reassuringly, as though she knew what he was thinking, and delicately plucked a slim book off the shelf, glancing quickly at the cover. Then she stood and came over to where Harry sat on the sofa and settled herself next to him.

"Would you like me to read you this book, Harry?" She held it out, showing him the cover and letting him sound out the title.

"The S-stor-y of Jesus," he read aloud, stumbling a bit. "Yes, please."

* * *

"Harry? Come in here, please."

Harry was sitting on the sofa, staring intently at the pages of _The Story of Jesus_ when Aunt 'Tunia poked her head out of Father Gerard's office to call him in. Unused to hearing her call him by name, and never in that voice – she actually sounded _nice_ – he startled so badly the book slid off his lap and hit the floor with a small thump. Blushing, he stuttered an apology to Sister Rebecca for dropping her book, glancing worriedly at Aunt 'Tunia.

"That's alright, Harry, I'll put it away. Go on with your Aunt," Sister Rebecca said, rising to collect the fallen book. Harry stood uncertainly, wondering what was going to happen to him now. He could tell that this was very different than anything that had ever happened with his aunt and uncle, and he didn't know if that was good or bad.

"Come on, Harry," Aunt 'Tunia said, extending a hand to him. "Father Gerard wants to tell you about your gift."

Almost alarmed, Harry stared at the hand. Aunt 'Tunia never touched him, unless she absolutely had to. He was beginning to get really worried. "Are you alright, Aunt 'Tunia?" he asked, hesitantly, as he slowly took her hand.

"Oh, Harry. I think I'm better now than I've been in years."

Harry didn't know quite what to make of this statement, so he just followed the woman – _still smiling_ – back into the office. Uncle Vern and Father Gerard were still there, in the same chairs, and as Aunt 'Tunia returned to her seat, she gave him a gentle little push to the sofa he woke up on. Looking around slowly, as if expecting to see some huge difference, he went to the sofa and sat down.

"Hello again, Harry," Father Gerard greeted him. "Did Sister Rebecca find a book you liked?"

Distracted from his inspection of the office, Harry nodded happily. "Yes, sir," he said. "She read me a book about Jesus." He hesitated briefly, glancing at Uncle Vern. "Is Jesus real, sir? Or is he make-believe?"

"Oh, Jesus is very real, son," Father Gerard confirmed seriously. "And, as a matter of fact, he has a part in the story I'd like to tell you." A movement at the corner of Harry's eye made him glance at Aunt 'Tunia and Uncle Vern in time to see surprise cross both of their faces briefly. He didn't know what that meant, but he shrugged a little and turned his attention back to Father Gerard as he started speaking.

"Now, Harry," the man began, leaning forward in his seat and capturing the boy's eyes with his own. "I'm going to tell you the story as I know it. It's something we're taught when we become priests – that's what my job is called – so that we can help children like you, who have this gift and don't know what it is. I don't have all the information, but if you'll bear with me, I know someone who can help you more than I can later on. Is that okay?"

Harry nodded – that sounded reasonable to him – and the Father settled back into his chair, crossing ankle over knee, and began to speak, his voice taking on a story-telling tone.

"A long, long time ago, after God made the first man and woman, Adam and Eve, they messed up – they made a mistake, and didn't follow God's rules, and God punished them, just like parents do when their children break the rules. Before, Adam and Eve lived in a beautiful garden that had everything they needed to eat and be healthy. Afterwards, they had to live in the world outside the garden, which meant they had to work to grow and catch and raise all their own food, and build their own shelter, and protect themselves from animals that would hurt them.

"That kind of life is very hard, so God wanted to give them a gift, to add some joy to their lives and to make it a little bit easier for them. So God put some of His power into the world – just a tiny bit – and made it so that some people would be born with the ability to use that power to do things, like helping crops grow and healing the sick and injured, and even things like making a storm in one's back garden.

"But just like children disobey their parents when they're young, there have always been people that disobey God's commands and break His rules. As people learned to use the power He put in the world, they became arrogant. They thought that since they could use God's power, that must mean they were gods. The people that could use His power began to pick on the people that couldn't, and said that the ones that couldn't had to obey the ones that could, because they were gods. They fought with each other over who was the more powerful god, and just generally made life terribly unpleasant for lots of people.

"Finally, God decided that people shouldn't be allowed to use His power anymore, so He told his people – the Jews – that His power was off limits, and that anyone using it was to be put to death, because man couldn't handle the power without becoming dangerous. People were still born with the ability to use it, but it wasn't allowed.

"For a long time, that's how it was. God's power – what we came to know as magic – wasn't allowed, under any circumstances. Then Jesus came along. He was God's very own Son, and he came to Earth to help people be able to enter Heaven, and be with God. He had twelve apostles, or trusted students, who travelled with him, and they went all around, telling people about God and how to get to Him.

"Now Jesus, being God's Son, has the same power that God has, and he gave a little bit to His apostles, so they could heal the sick and drive out demons in His name. Up until this point, the ability to use magic – God's power that He put in the world – only passed down in families. If one or both of your parents couldn't do it, you couldn't either. When Jesus gave His power to His apostles, He effectively made it so that every now and then, a child would be born that _could_ use magic, even though his or her parents couldn't.

"As far as the world was concerned, though, God's rule still stood – magic was off-limits. That all changed at the Pentecost. After Jesus died on the cross, the apostles were together, celebrating the day of Pentecost, which is a special day for the Jewish people as well, and the Holy Spirit came and made it so that all the people – some three thousand, from all over the region – could understand what the apostles were saying, even though they spoke many different languages.

"Ever since then, magic has been allowed, as long as the people that use it follow God's will." Father Gerard paused then, looking at Uncle Vern and Aunt 'Tunia. "You might be interested to know," he added. "That there have been reports for a long time of the faithful, particularly Pentecostals, suddenly becoming somewhat magical. The speaking in tongues and healing are actually real, and the ability sticks around somewhat. They've even been known to actually cure terminal forms of cancer, which is something the secular side of the magical world has never really managed, to my knowledge."

Leaving them to digest this bit of information, he turned back to Harry, who had been putting everything together quietly while Father Gerard talked to his relatives. "Harry?" he asked. "Do you have any questions?"

Hesitating, Harry glanced at Aunt 'Tunia, expecting to see her scowling at him again. She didn't like it so much when he asked questions. To his surprise, Aunt 'Tunia gave him a small smile and a nod, so he turned back to Father Gerard. "I do have one," he admitted uncertainly. Father Gerard just looked at him expectantly. "Am…am I magical, then?"

Flinchingly, Harry waited for the explosion from Uncle Vern, or for Father Gerard to tell him that no, that wasn't why he told the story, he was mistaken. He was very surprised, therefore, when it was Aunt 'Tunia that spoke quietly.

"Yes, you are."

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry about the terribly long wait, y'all. I really promise I haven't given up on this story! I just got pregnant and had a baby since I first posted this, so things have been rather hectic for the better part of the last two years.

And now you have the basis for how magic and Christianity are going to mesh in this story. I've read Harry Potter stories before in which religion was a factor - either a central thematic element, or a peripheral bauble, or somewhere in between - but what I've never read is how we go from the traditional viewpoint of "magic is bad" to "oh, but we're just going to gloss over the fact that we have all these young wizards and witches who apparently don't have any problems reconciling their magic with their membership in the Catholic church." How do they reconcile it? Do you _really_ mean to tell me that there have never been any parents who went straight to their parish priest, their local pastor, or the head of whichever ecclesiastical organization they preferred, just as soon as Professor McGonagall left?

I don't buy it. So, I decided that for a story which centers _entirely_ around the idea of Harry being raised Christian, I needed to have a little more flesh to the concept, and this is the most reasonable explanation I could come up with.

Anyway, I'm hoping, after such a long break from writing, that this still flows well from the second chapter to this one. I've got the outline for Part I finished - have done since before the baby - so with any luck I'll be able to get it written in a slightly more reasonable time frame. This is a little short, but it seemed like a good place to stop. Next up, we'll get into more history, and, I think, a bit of a field trip.

I'm glad to be back in the saddle.

Ta,

Courtney


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